


Chronicles: Underworld

by God1643



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ancient magic, Crime Boss Harry Potter, Criminal Underworld, Forgotten Magic, Gen, Grey Harry Potter, Inherited Fortune, Nature Magic, Pet Nundu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-18 20:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/God1643/pseuds/God1643
Summary: Some people say they were plucked from obscurity by a benefactor of some sort.He spent a long time hoping for a benefactor of his own.One never came.So he made his own, crawling, scratching, bleeding, biting and punching till there was no one left but himself.And he'll be damned if he's no one's benefactor.He's giving help, even if you don't realize how much you really need it.





	1. Beginnings

Rita Skeeter removed a small key from the pocket of her olive green robe. Looking about, she inserted her key and turned the lock to her home in Diagon Alley.

A modest flat, it had two small bedrooms and a large bathroom, a small furnished living room combined with a well furnished kitchenette and a large corner desk for her writing and journaling.

Just right for her.

While small, her success at the Daily Prophet as their star investigative journalist and the amount of bribes she had taken over the years meant she was not poor.

An expensive imported rug from the Magical section of Turkey covered the floor beneath her desk, silver inlay on the crown molding and a fantastically expensive Great Grey post owl named Strixy.

But, as she had made many easily disgruntled and highly dangerous enemies over the years, she had spent most of her income on incredibly powerful, expansive and potentially lethal wards.

Tied into a central wardstone, they sent a constant and uninhibited mental signal directly to Rita, informing her of the slightest disturbance. If a fly decided to try landing on only one foot on the furthest shingle on the roof, she would be informed instantly.

So, when she turned on the light, she got quite a shock.

A muddy, large boot print,  _ ruined _ her expensive rug! It started a trail to her desk, where her lamp had been switched on. The light runestone in the shade cast its glow on a letter, that had been spelled to hover ominously over her green journal.

_ Miss Rita Skeeter _

The front read, written in a sloping hand of black ink, and made with a quill tip so narrow it seemed as though it would break at the slightest pressure.

A Signet ring impression in red wax sealed it closed. A slumbering dragon curled up with its tail tucked under its chin and a wing wrapped around itself, it had a snake coiled up lazily on its head between the sloping horns.

Removing her wand and casting every analysis spell she knew, and double checking her ward against intent, she deemed it safe and cautiously cracked open the red wax seal.

_ Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus _ . Was written in that same sloping hand.

_ You, madam, have awoken the dragon. I suspect our future conversations to be most interesting. Do not seek me out, and mention my existence to no one. I enclose a token of my esteem to ensure you realise what is at stake. _

_ Regards, An Old Friend. _

Within the envelope lay a single crushed beetle.

Rita fainted.


	2. Mikael I

A large, physically overbearing presence slipped his way into a large manor home atop a grassy hill. He headed for the back of the first floor and came to two large doors, oak bound in heavy iron and carved with ornate celtic style scrollwork.

The doors hummed ominously as he reached up to the golden knocker and lifted it, pushing it home twice. The doors swung open without a creak, and sound emerged.

“ _ I do hope the mission was successful, Mikael?” _ A sibilant voice hissed. The large man strode in and dropped into a kneeling position before the foot of an oak throne. It grew from a patch of dirt floor, a live tree with upreaching branches, almost cradling his perched figure upon it.

“It is done, Boss. The Bug has been warned of your displeasure. I observed her reading your missive and she fell unconscious.” Mikael rumbled, his voice falling from behind his combed blonde heard.

“ _ She remains useful? _ ”

“I fed her a general healing potion to ensure her continued utility. I hope that my initiative has not offended you Boss.” Mikael said, a note of hesitant uncertainty easing its way into his rumbling voice.

“ _ You did well, my faithful.” _ Reassured Boss, waving a hand in understanding. _ “I have arranged a visit with young Melinda, but you must be quick. You have only tonight before she must return. At least until our adversary stops observing her.” _ The Boss hissed, tone lighter now.

“Thank you, Boss. It means much.” Mikael replied in a hoarse whisper.

“ _ Look at me, my faithful. Into my eyes. _ ” Confused, but knowing well enough to heed, Mikael craned his head to meet the figure.

The Boss lounged in his throne, his back relaxed even as his arms tensed, in the grip of painful memory. His messy black hair fell in waves over his shoulders and down his back, and his piercing jade eyes stared out into the world from over his aristocratic cheekbones.

“ _ Have I told you the story of my family, Mikael? _ ” The Boss asked. Mikael gulped, not entirely comfortable with the way Boss’ gaze hardened.

“No, Boss.” Mikael rumbled.

“ _ They were vile creatures. My uncle and cousin so fat they could barely move, and my aunt so thin it seemed a strong breeze would knock her over. _

_ Aunt spread rumours, of my bad behaviour to disguise the crimes of her son. Uncle lashed my back or locked me in my cupboard for speaking or questioning. Cousin beat me, whenever he felt like it. _

_ I vowed, in my head, in my words, and spelt out in their blood onto their walls after I killed them, that no child or person with goodness in their hearts would suffer as I suffered. _

_ Young Melinda is good, and you, Mikael, despite your faults and your efficiency at our unsavoury trade, are good as well. I would do everything to maintain that in both of you.” _ Boss said, turning his green eyes to the crackling fire to his right.

Mikael raked his vision down the long, linear burn that descended down Boss’ right cheek.

“I know not what to say, Boss. I can offer nothing to ease that pain.” Mikael said softly.

“ _ That you think to offer anything is enough, my faithful. Go. I shall put the Orphanage to sleep for an hour longer in the morning, and you shall have that with Melinda tonight before she must return. _ ” Boss hissed softly. Mikael did not doubt Boss could do as he said, and bowed gratefully before rising and leaving.


	3. Fred I

A tall, gangly figure, clad in clean black robes, strode down a street. The close pressed storefronts to his sides combined with the many malfunctioning streetlamps, rendered it ominously shadowed from one end to the other.

A ratty black over cloak draped over his shoulders with the hood pulled low over his head. A mop of red hair peaked out from underneath the hood as he hurried along at an even pace.

He came to a particularly clean shop, clearly run by a manager who was proud of his business. The large glass window was inscribed with sloping and polished golden letters.

_ MacArthur and Johnson: Loans For All Occasions _ read the sign glass. The figure paused slightly, hesitating, and gave a nod to himself of affirmation before opening the heavy red door.

A bell chimed delicately by the door as it opened, and the figure pulled down his hood. An angular mischievous face, nearly impish in truth, looked around at his surroundings.

A wavy mop of obnoxiously flame red hair popped out from under the hood and dangled over his visage, framing it to point out his glinting green eyes, glowing with intelligence.

A small crash from the back of the shop sent the redhead turning slightly, his body on edge. An older voice called out, soothing his nerves.

“Comin, lad!” A man emerged from the back, his bright grey eyes wild with excitement and his shock of snow white hair sticking out at every angle.

“Freddy boy! Come with a decision?” The man asked, his eyes bright with mischief.

“I have, Mister MacArthur.” Fred said, his eyes and face sobering. MacArthur’s facial expression did not dim, nor did his excitement as he bounced around behind the counter like a house elf on cocaine.

How precisely Fred knew that analogy was an interesting story.

“And just what would that decision be?” MacArthur chirped, his eyes alight.

“I want to speak to your benefactor.” Fred declared, and MacArthur  _ froze _ .

Turning around slowly, his entire manner rapidly changed. His excitable, twitching body stilled completely and his face turned into a mask of hard strength.

No longer was he the affable shop owner, he was the man who had operated without interference in  _ Knockturn Freaking Alley _ for over seventy years and  _ through two wars _ without interference.

“Nobody speaks to him directly. Nobody without sanctioned business.” MacArthur said evenly, his eyebrow cocked as if to judge Fred.

“Then I need a sanction.” Fred replied without missing a beat. MacArthur snapped his gaze from looking at Fred’s demeanour to look into Fred’s eyes.

“No one here can get you one, and anyone you ask will either obliviate the shit out of you or kill both of us.” MacArthur said seriously.

“Is a sanction truly that bad?” Fred asked wonderingly.

“In this case, yes.”

“What’s special about this case?”

“You’re uninitiated, underage, untrained, and your mind is totally unshielded. Ya got a family who don’t understand your need for freedom, an overbearing mother who would disown you simply for entering this Alley, and a father so clueless he doesn’t notice your mother dosing him with a love potion every full moon.

If I didn’t know the true genius in the heads of you and George, I would sooner kill you than bring you before the Council for a Sanction to see The Boss.” MacArthur declared.

Fred was not deterred.

“Is there nothing that can be done?” He pressed.

MacArthur stepped back and looked Fred in the eye once more, gauging everything in the kid’s mind, heart, and soul. To his credit, Fred only began  _ lightly _ perspiring under the judgment.

MacArthur spoke.

“Come back in a week. I shall mention you to The Boss. I will relay his decision.”


	4. Ian I

Knockturn had an established pecking order. Strength won over all, but even the strongest knew the effect that good-will could have.

_ The Boss _ was a figure none would mess with. He or she, as the job was not gender specific, nor even specific to humans, operated on altruism for the good of the downtrodden.

Street prostitutes were taken in, cleared of disease and employed for steady rates and the right to refuse service to any particular customer. Thieves were either brought into the Thieves Guild and adhered to a strict code of ethics, or were turned into the proper authorities.

Those of a more violent disposition were either brought to heel and employed as enforcers and guards, or put down where they stood.

It was ruthless, it was cold, but it was effective. Not only did the system work, any half decent historian who knew the subject could tell you with the utmost confidence that Knockturn would run unchecked without a  _ Boss _ .

Perhaps illegal potions would be crafted improperly and explode, killing innocents. Perhaps some sort of trade of a magical creature would go awry and chaos would be caused.

Whatever it would be, it would not have been pretty.

It was with this knowledge that most of the shopkeepers ran their businesses, understanding that the  _ Boss _ was always watching and anything out of  _ The Codex _ would be punished severely.

 

Deep in the Alley, at the farthest reaches where the sunlight did not touch and no street lights worked, dwelled the harshest conditions.

Feral Vampires, Ghouls and Feral Werewolves ran amok, only checked by the firm hand of the  _ Boss’ _ Enforcers and the occasional Auror raid.

Hags abducted weak vagrants and consumed their flesh and organs, usually taking at least two lives before they were discovered and exterminated.

Only the strongest ventured within, and those that entered without heed were rarely heard from again. This, in truth, was probably the accurate representation of what the public thought of all of Knockturn.

And yet, a ninety year old man strode comfortably down the street. A menacing hiss emerged from his right in a darkened corner, but a whip of his wand from his sleeve and a harsh pulse of Lumos Solem had the feral vampire scurrying off.

At the farthest reach of the street was a dead end, where the cobblestones turned into a cracked sidewalk before a large home.

Two stories, a thick cloth canopy funneled away water when raining and protected against sunlight when not.

The exterior was painted a soft, almost gentle blue, and the very clean windows were very out of place with the dingy surroundings. It was clearly well cared for, although by whom was not obvious.

The old man stopped before the door, and cast a cleaning spell at his dress shoes and the hems of his fine black robes to rid them of the street’s effluent. He gently opened the wood bound glass door, sending a small bell dancing into sound.

Stepping aside, he stood on the doormat for a moment and scanned the room. It was empty aside from a desk, where a receptionist sat.

A pretty young thing, she wore her black hair shortened in a pixie cut. Her almond shaped brown eyes were framed by a pair of black wireframe glasses, that hung by a silver chain about her neck when not in use.

She gave a bright smile.

“Why, if it isn’t Ian MacArthur! What a pleasant surprise.” She said, delight shining in her eyes. She stood, revealing a tight black skirt and flowy white blouse.

She stepped around the desk on low heels to gently embrace the older man, who was very much like an eccentric grandfather to those who grew up in the Alley.

Wrapping one arm around one of his favourite ‘Grandchildren’, Ian gave her a slight squeeze and released her. Pushing her back slightly, he scrutinised her face and body with a casual gaze.

“Why, Natalia! You certainly grew into a beauty, just as I said you would!” Ian exclaimed, his standard bounce and twitch in his movements as she stepped away into a more comfortable conversation position. Natalia’s cheeks flamed into a soft red at his remarks.

“Why thank you,  _ Nonno! _ ” Natalia demurred, her italian roots coming to bare.

Ian’s face stretched wider into his ever prevalent grin, his wild and ever-so-slightly damaged magical core sending an electric crackle lancing across his scalp and poofing out his shock of snow white hair.

“The tesla coil sparks again!” Natalia remarked with a smirk, and Ian laughed along. The two settled across from each other, with Natalia behind the desk, pouring a cup of tea for the two of them.

“How do you take it,  _ Nonno _ ?” Natalia asked, her voice calmer than prior.

“Why, straight up, my dear. How else would one appreciate the flavours?” Ian said, his ever present smile only slightly dimmed with their switch to more casual topics. Natalia huffed in exasperation at his antics and handed him the steaming cup.

“Why have you come?” Natalia queried, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow cocked in expectation. While grateful for the visit, no one entered The Depths without a clear motive.

At least, no one who intended to leave alive.

“I need a meeting, my darling. One as soon as possible.” Ian said, his grin shrinking slightly. Natalia felt her eyes widen, shocked by the statement.

“I hope this is on behalf of another?” Natalia said leadingly, hoping desperately Ian would not make use of the  _ Boss _ ’ services.

“Indeed, my darling. Two young friends of mine need to arrange a time.” Ian said. Natalia turned on her swivel chair smoothly and removed her glasses from their spot hanging to place on her face. She put her attention to her ledger and picked up her fountain pen, her eyes narrowing in concentration.

“The nearest open time would be this coming wednesday, at nine in the morning. Is that acceptable?” Natalia said, after a moment perusing the heavy book.

“That is most pleasing, darling. The young twins shall be here, and I will grant them the pass for entrance.” Ian said brightly, pausing only to sip from his tea.

“I suppose, if they need your pass, that they are uninitiated?” Natalia asked. Ian gave a nod. Natalia turned to make a note in her book.

“Whose sanction will they be coming under then? I require it for the file.” She asked leadingly, reaching over to take a sip from her cup.

“Mine.” Ian stated empirically.

Natalia’s picture perfect composure shattered as she sprayed tea  _ all _ over her mentor. She snapped up from examining her book to stare with her peat brown eyes, widened in shock.

“You’ve never given one before!” She exclaimed in indignation. Ian chuckled softly and waved his wand, drying himself off before allowing it to disappear back into his sleeve.

“Indeed not. This, perhaps, shall showcase how much I believe in these two boys.” Ian said quietly, taking a placid sip of his tea. Natalia shakily penciled in the sanction behind the appointment, and looked up as Ian stood.

“I am afraid I must be off, my darling. You should visit.” Ian said brightly, his usual cheer once again prevalent. Natalia felt her face fall slightly, and stepped around the desk to tightly embrace the older man.


	5. Boss I

The Boss had made an interesting, if slightly troubling observation. Natalia’s penmanship was usually flawless, as befitted one who worked with ledgers that required efficient review. She also had a very steady hand, never missing a stroke and never failing a line.

So, when a note for a meeting came up shaky, and no additional business was recorded for the day, he felt his brow furrow ever so slightly in worry.

With a wave of his hand the floating platform that served as his desk receded back into the shadows behind his throne, and his scarred right hand waved a messenger patronus into view.

The large corporeal thestral shook out its short mane, huffing and blustering a few times to showcase its natural wariness.

“Hello Wingy.” He greeted the beast. Wingy bowed his skeletally thin head in acknowledgement.

“Bring the message to Mikael to check upon Natalia.” Boss said, dismissing his oldest and most loyal friend.

Mute the patronus may have been, but he was always there when Boss had once suffered from viciously vivid nightmares; and now when their sheltered orphans had nightmares as well.

Mikael entered the room with quiet steps ten minutes later, and paused at the door. He bowed his head.

“Natalia is on her way, Boss. Jogen will have to cover the desk for a moment.” Mikael said quietly. Boss waved his faithful away in a dismissive thanks, and settled into his throne to wait.

Just as the Boss began to contemplate meditation for passing the time, the doors opened smoothly on their oiled hinges. Natalia entered, her brown eyes clear and bright in the flickering light of the fire.

“Good morning, Boss.” Natalia chirruped, the happiness burning in her breast infectious. Boss felt his mouth turn up into a tiny smirk, the darkness of his existence receding slightly.

“ _ Hello, Nat. I discovered an interesting entry within the ledger, for tomorrow morning’s appointment. The unsteady mark of your hand did not go unnoticed. _ ” Boss remarked, his hissing tone placid.

“Ah, yes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that conversation. Mister Ian MacArthur stopped by.” Natalia said softly, losing herself slightly in the memory.

“ _ I presume our operations have avoided his claimed territory, as per my orders? This was not a complaint by the Grandfather of Knockturn? _ ” Boss queried, worry about precisely how stupid his underlings sometimes were bubbling to the surface. For every Mikael and Natalia, there were three knucklebrains.

“No, Boss. Quite the opposite. He came to appoint a time for two of his uninitiated apprentices to speak to you.” Natalia said, returning to her bright speech.

“ _ Under whose sanction _ ?” Boss inquired, curiosity creeping into his voice.

“His own, Boss!” Natalia exclaimed. Boss hummed in consideration and took a moment to think.

“ _ Truly? To break seven decades of neutrality is no easy decision. _ ” Boss remarked.

“I know, Boss! I could barely believe it myself!” Natalia burst.

“ _ Very well, my darling. Return to your position, and please lead in these apprentices personally tomorrow. _ ” Boss said, dismissing the young woman. Natalia mockingly curtsied with a giggle, and left with a twirl of her medium length black skirt. Boss let a slow, rumbling chuckle fall from his lips at the development of the evening.


	6. Boss II

“ _ Cease your simpering, my child. You have a proposal. Make it. _ ” The Boss hissed, eyes aglow with a bizarre duality of impatience for his actions and patience for the coming words.

“I believe the Wizarding World requires a kick from its stagnation. The Muggleborns attempt this, but they are treated with disdain for their birth parents and their points, no matter how viable or rational, are deemed the feeble ramblings of children who know not how our world works.” Fred proclaimed, showing none of the nervousness his brother was displaying, though he felt far more.

“ _ And you believe you are the one to give it that kick? _ ” Boss queried, more curious than admonishing.

Fred and George drew their brows down in determination and nodded harshly, standing straight even in this deliberately ominous surroundings.

“We would require assistance, from more powerful sources, but we believe the best way to spark heavily polarizing change is when it is disguised as mere fanciful jokes.” George said next, bouncing off the springboard laid down by his brother.

“ _ You have current… ideas?” _ Queried The Boss.

“We have runic arrays and fuel potions to reliably generate power for systems, all run off a localised magical battery of our own design. Instead of using an acid as the muggles do for theirs, ours uses finely powdered quartz dissolved in mandrake essence to transmit energy.” Explained Fred.

“The earth base of both the mandrake’s plant body and the crystal’s growth ensure maximum efficiency, whilst ensuring that ruptured casings will not cause any adverse effects and will slowly bleed off their energy into the ground without a sudden disastrous venting.” George continued.

The Boss leaned forward in his carved, live oaken throne, his muscular torso now revealed even as his face lay bathed in deepest shadow. His eyes glowed keenly, interested.

“ _ You have deeply considered this. I find myself… impressed, at the least. Were I to provide the location on the main stretch of Diagon, how much more capital would you require for base materials and refining systems? _ ”

“We have the refining systems on hand, though higher purity silver from the Germans would grant us a shorter dissolve time in the initial solution. We need only a counter to work on, and a space to sell. Base materials have been stockpiled for initial mass production.”

“ _ You have my approval, and funding. A space has opened following an underling’s, shall we say… unfortunate decision to attempt to cheat me. It will be cleaned and prepared for you by the end of the week. Natalia shall draw up the contract, and supply you with tomes covering the legalese within it. Good Day, Twins. _ ” Boss declared.

He flicked his hand toward the door, and it swung open. At her cue, Natalia led the shocked twins out into the lobby, smirking at their expressions.

“We did it, George.”

“No, o' brother mine, You did.”


End file.
